


Wallpaper

by letsgetalittleseethrough



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Healing, M/M, hurt/ comfort, not yet a romantic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 18:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgetalittleseethrough/pseuds/letsgetalittleseethrough
Summary: They say this stuff is “his” now, that this is “his room”.There’s a patch of wallpaper, upper-left-hand-corner, that’s torn a little, and wow, he must really not be doing so good, because he notices it and starts to cry.





	Wallpaper

They say this stuff is his now, that this is “his room”, and he nods, at once raging, snarling to himself, biting back comments like, “you wanna kid yourself that this is _ my _ shit? Yeah, sure, don’t I just fit right in, don’t I just remember buying that shitty lamp, yeah, Jesus” and also lapsing into some sort of spiraling state of despair where he thinks things like,

“Does anyone really own anything? When all people do is _ fucking take_?” 

“but HYDRA, I was HYDRA’s, wasn’t I? Winter Soldier, Owned By HYDRA, Yes, Sir.”

“...wasn’t I?”

“whose am I now? No. No. I’m, I’m... Shit. Oh, _ fuck_-” 

Jesus. Why do these people think it _ matters _ to him that the skirting board in “his room” is painted grey? 

(Sometimes it’s nice, though. Sometimes, the nights he’s not waking in a cold sweat thinking agony incarnate, the nights he spends staring at every inch of “his room” inventorising it just to prove that his eyes are still working eyes and he hasn’t gone blind or dead, those nights it’s nice to look at the skirting board and recognise the grey.)

(there’s something in the back of his head that says that this guy he once knew once held a pencil that exact colour and proclaimed, “dove grey”, and it was the best sound he’d ever heard. This guy owned a lot of pencils. Different colours. _ Pointless_, Bucky thinks, about the pencils and also, everything.

Seems like all the good in his life happened “once”, a long time ago.)

\---

He notices it after he’s been indoors in “his room” for so long that his mood feels like unwashed-hair and stomach ache, even though in this privileged new life he has neither of these things: a patch of wallpaper, upper-left-hand-corner, that’s torn a little, and wow, he must really not be doing so good, because he notices it and starts to cry.

Captain America, of whom something in the back of Bucky’s head associates with pencils, because of course his brain has to break in both conventional and unconventional ways, knocks on his door after maybe ten minutes or ten hours or ten trillion poorly-taken breaths, because he seems to do that. 

“Bucky?”

_ I do this a lot_, Bucky thinks, in-between rocking-back-and-forth-over-fucking-ripped-wallpaper and streaming-tears. _ Why do you still care? _

“Can I come in?”

Bucky weighs up for a second whether inflicting his misery on America’s Mascot will make him feel better, decides that maybe looking at his stupid fucking face will at least make him feel some different sort of emotion other than inexplainable suffering (over fucking ripped wallpaper), manages to flop off the bed and wrench the door open, manages to hold back the sobbing (sobbing is both a comforting sign - crying is something that humans do, and also horrifying - because what if one day he just doesn’t stop, ever?) long enough to blurt out, “did you used to draw? A long time ago?”

And before he can overthink that into, “oh god, my brain really is fucking breaking, why did I say, why, I, oh Jesus,” Captain America perks up with a smile that could fix the wallpaper and possibly Bucky’s theory that everybody who smiles is a real fucking liar. 

“You remembered!”

And then he seems to take in Bucky’s existence, and the smile tumbles like wallpaper stuck with glue that’s got too old. 

“I could draw you something,” Captain America says, which totally throws Bucky, because this isn’t the usual melodramatic script they perform every time he’s caught crying. 

Bucky has the chance to say something here, but he’s too scared of asking America’s Idol to fix the wallpaper in “his room” so his eyes don’t make tears over bullshit again, so he says nothing. Captain America’s wallpaper-smile peels down even further, and he makes to place a hand on Bucky’s back, and then seems to think the better of it. 

“Some art on the walls,” Captain America says, once time has vomited a couple of minutes or a couple hundred breaths and they’re somehow sitting together dizzily on Bucky’s bed. “Really make this place look nice.”

_ You’re really not a ‘giving-up’ sort of guy_, Bucky thinks. Bucky says, “Do me a portrait of myself and title it, ‘Identity’”.

He’s not sure why he says it. Captain America clearly isn’t sure why he said it, either, but thankfully he doesn’t press the matter, or say something inexcusably-close-to-bad-poetry about Bucky and “what he’s been through” and “his surroundings, then vs now”. 

Bucky’s not sure why he said it. If the mirror, or his memories, are anything to go by, a portrait of himself would give his nightmares nightmares.

\---

It’s either a sign that he’s getting much better or that he’s given up entirely when he comes back from the kitchen, glass of water in hand, to find Captain America on his knees on Bucky’s bed, painting over the spot where the wallpaper had torn, and doesn’t cut his throat with wet, smashed shards of glass. 

“Hey,” Captain America says, smiling that smile again, and then brushing a paint-splattered hand through his hair. “Painting’s my favourite, now,” he says, and Bucky nods like he knows what that means.

(Something in the back of his head does. Why is the back of his head so long away?) 

Bucky gets up onto the bed too, and Captain America shifts to make room (the bed was definitely not made for two.) 

“Identity,” Captain America proclaims. 

It’s shades of pink and grey- no. Of Bucky’s skin, and Bucky’s arm. Distorted by the rip in the wallpaper. 

Bucky hands Captain America the glass of water, saying, “thirsty work, yeah?” and Captain America smiles that smile, the one that could fix the wallpaper and possibly Bucky’s theory that everybody who smiles is a real fucking liar.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to read your thoughts!


End file.
